


Caring for the Caretaker (Dr. Bronner and Stryker)

by Astroblaze



Series: Kage and Stryker [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Concerned Anva, Gen, Implied/Referenced Combat, Massage, Medical Examination, Metahumans, Modern Fantasy, Prosthesis, Science Fiction, Stress Test
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astroblaze/pseuds/Astroblaze
Summary: Growing increasingly concerned for the well-being of their leader, the Twelve privately work together with local doctor Kage Bronner to get Stryker into his clinic for a thorough physical.
Series: Kage and Stryker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105733
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Medshots by Astroblaze





	Caring for the Caretaker (Dr. Bronner and Stryker)

**Author's Note:**

> I really contemplated using chapters to break this one up because it's so stupid long, but it wasn't wanting to break nicely ^^"

Three of the most influential civilians in the whole of Xupreon was certainly not who Kage Bronner had expected to greet him on his front porch when he answered the door on an otherwise uneventful day and week.

“May we speak with you for a moment?” the elegant cylirt at their head requested. “The matter is a touch urgent.”

“Oh- well- sure, come on in,” Kage stammered, quickly stepping aside and holding the door open.

The android, as was usual for her kind, seemed to glide across the landing, slippered feet barely brushing the ground and pale skirt billowing about her ankles. Her substantially less ethereal companions followed close behind, while the collection of toughened fighters who had accompanied the trio dispersed into the dense woodlands surrounding his home, Kage presumed to post a guard.

The young man hurried after them as they seated themselves in his living room. “Can I offer you anything? Coffee?”

The cylirt smiled graciously, but her luminescent lavender optics seemed dim, wearied by concern. “Thank you, but no, we only need a moment of your time.”

Kage nodded, seating himself across from them. “So—forgive me for not being familiar with all of your identities—you are?”

“No need for apologies,” she assured him. “I am Anva. My companions are Dominic—” the wiry older man with a silvery mohawk lifted a hand— “and the Harbinger—” the young, stern-eyed hyheil briefly dipped her hooded head to him.

Anva: the purported right hand of Stryker himself. This must be serious. “Right. I’m Kage Bronner—as you probably know, I guess, if you found me,” he noted, shaking his head at his disorganization. “So, how can I help you?”

Anva lowered her gaze to her hands folded in her lap and sighed. “It’s about Stryker.”

Kage’s heart sank. “What happened, is something wrong?”

“Well...” She tilted her head, delicate features contorted by distress. “Not _wrong,_ per say, but off. The Cowl has been very active recently, and we’re concerned he’s being too demanding of himself, as is unfortunately his wont,” she added with a sigh, brushing a segmented hand across her porcelain forehead.

Dr. Bronner nodded thoughtfully and retrieved his notepad from the table. “Demanding how? What has he been doing?”

“It’s more what he has _not_ been doing,” Anva explained. “The stress of the conflict has evidently gotten to him. He isn’t eating well, isn’t sleeping well—I’ve caught him up at all hours poring over our maps and refining potential maneuvers. He’s constantly on edge, even when the Cowl is nowhere remotely in the vicinity.”

Kage nodded along as she spoke, jotting down her points and his own thoughts. Likely symptom profile: muscle tension, elevated heart rate, slowed reflexes and reasoning—he may not be physically ill, but he was putting himself at undue risk trying to fight in that state.

“You came highly recommended by our militia, especially the skichermen among us,” Anva observed. “I am just hopeful that you can employ your expertise to ensure that he hasn’t harmed himself, and to help him relax. He needs the break, desperately.”

Kage snapped shut the notebook and met her gaze, blue eyes sincere. “I would be delighted to do that for him. It’s the least I can do to give back for everything he’s done for us. Just let me know anytime and I’ll be ready.”

Anva released a breath, a tremendous weight lifting from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

* * *

Stryker had to wonder what Anva was refusing to share with him as he walked with her, Dominic, Fenris, and the Harbinger, narrowed brown eyes darting about their surroundings. It wasn’t like her to withhold information from him, but she still had yet to tell him where they were going. The encamped militia, left now with just over half of their leadership, sprang to mind and his mouth drew into a thin line. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long.

He lifted his head as the forest opened into a clearing where the ground sloped gently into the mound of a high-lying hill, barely short enough to see over. Of course, as they skirted its perimeter, the wooden structure of a collapsible porch erected around an entrance cut into the side of the hill broke the familiar disguise—someone living in the middle of nowhere had to be careful who knew about the location of their home, after all, especially these days.

As the band rounded into view, Dr. Bronner stood from where he had been waiting on the porch, straightening his shirt. After Anva had contacted him earlier mentioning that they were on their way, he had made sure he would be presentable for his celebrity guests, dressing more nicely than he normally would with his short brown hair neatly combed.

Stryker’s brow furrowed on sight of the young man waiting for them, glancing between him and Anva as the group drew up beside the porch. “What’s going on?”

Anva seemed to be choosing her words carefully as she stepped toward him. “Stryker, the Twelve are worried about you. You’ve been running yourself ragged trying to manage everything at once.” She nodded to the man. “We’ve been in contact with this doctor over the last couple days and he’s willing to help you.”

He gave her a look, pieces starting to fall into place. “Help me?”

“It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two,” the doctor spoke up, stepping off the porch to join them.

Oh, that’s what’s going on.

His shoulders sagged in a heavy sigh, lifting a hand to massage his forehead. “Anva, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. We really don’t have time for this. If they find out, they’ll come after you.”

“They won’t find out, we do have time for this, and you _aren’t_ fine.” A smooth metal palm found the corner of his jaw, fingertips weaving into the spiny fringe of his short blond hair. “Look at yourself: you’re exhausted.”

He couldn’t meet her gaze. He had been trying his best not to think about that for a reason.

Anva leaned in, her eyes pleading. “I need you to trust me on this.”

Stryker shook his head. “This isn’t a matter of trust, Anva. It’s just too much of a risk. I can’t afford to be unavailable.”

“It will be okay,” she insisted. “Don’t worry about us. We can make it without your direct leadership for a little while. You need this.”

Brow knit tightly together, his eyes flickered between her and the doctor, but finally he sighed, hanging his head. “You’ll keep me informed?”

Anva nodded. “Of course. But promise me you won’t let concern about us distract you from what you’re supposed to be getting.”

He hesitated, but nodded reluctantly. “I promise.”

Anva smiled, her eyes brightening with a relief that set off a guilty twinge in the pit of his stomach. “Thank you.” She stepped away from him, inclining her head toward the doctor.

With a final glance over his shoulder to the others, Stryker turned away and followed Dr. Bronner into his home.

* * *

Once Stryker had stepped inside, Dr. Bronner pushed the door shut behind the two of them and turned to the man, finding that he didn’t have to lift his head quite as much as he expected to meet his eyes. “I’m Kage Bronner, by the way,” he introduced himself, realizing a bit late that he wasn’t quite as familiar a face as the powerful individual standing before him. “You can call me Dr. Bronner.”

Stryker tilted his head, eyebrows rising. “Oh, you’re _that_ doctor. I’ve heard the name.”

Kage smiled. “So I’m told.” He lifted a hand toward the living room visible through the right-hand arch. “Have a seat? I just need to go over a few things with you before I begin.”

As Stryker stepped past him into the adjoining room, the doctor trailed a few paces behind, observing his gait and movements as the metahuman seated himself on the couch and stretched out his legs, calloused fingers absently fiddling with the red and blue paracord bracelet buckled around his left wrist. Kage couldn’t help but notice that Stryker had chosen the exact seat in the entire room from which the main entrance was clearly visible, along with glimpses of the other gateways into the house. _’Hardly a surprise from the one man who has to watch his back constantly lest he find himself on the receiving end of a sniper,’_ he considered as he seated himself in the chair opposite Stryker, retrieving his notepad from the side-table.

Comparing his preliminary notes to the man before him, Kage couldn’t help a few more glances in Stryker’s direction than were strictly necessary. Of all the influencers he might’ve expected to seek his help specifically, Stryker wasn’t exactly high on the list. Despite the larger-than-life reputation, however, the man was remarkably average-looking in person—well-built and sun-toughened as the doctor had come to expect from his breed of warrior-adventurers, and dressed practically for the environments he would encounter—save the distinctive upward-styled platinum blond hair and angled sideburns, and the rusty red scar struck through his right eye from his hairline to the corner of his mouth. Given the haggard air about his otherwise youthful features and the noticeable slump to his muscled shoulders under the weathered leather of his dark brown jacket, Dr. Bronner’s initial predictions seemed to hold up.

Returning his attention to his notepad with a breath, he flipped to a clean page. “Now, this is the part where I would normally collect your relevant personal information, for my records, your history, and to better approach your care,” he explained. “However, given the sensitive nature of your position—” he noticed a twitch in the corner of Stryker’s mouth as though the man were restraining a smirk; yes, ‘sensitive’ was certainly one way to phrase it— “if there’s any bit of information you’re uncomfortable sharing, feel free to ask me to skip it. There are really only a couple things I technically _have_ to know.”

Stryker nodded, leaning back and folding his arms. “Alright.”

Excellent. Moving right along: “First, am I correct to assume that you would prefer I keep your records under your alias?”

Stryker started to open his mouth, but then closed it again, a contemplative look flashing across his face. “Actually,” he spoke slowly, “no, my real name might be better.”

His real name? Did anyone even know what that was? Kage quickly forced down his curiosities in favor of a gently neutral expression, though he couldn’t help a brief glance to the man over the rim of his glasses. “It’s your call.” There was no need to make the man, already visibly anxious though making a valiant attempt to hide it, more uncomfortable than he already was. “And that would be...?”

Stryker hesitated, the previously thoughtful expression switching out for tense uncertainty. Dr. Bronner waited patiently for him to change his mind, but instead: “Matt Bradley.”

The doctor maintained what he hoped was an air of calm reassurance as he added the name to the profile he was forming, but inside he was reeling a bit. Stryker, yes _Stryker,_ had just put a great deal of faith in his integrity, and exposed himself far more than he possibly needed to. He could not betray that trust.

“I understand,” was his simple expression of this solemn promise. “I’ll keep addressing you as Stryker, though,” he assured his patient, prompting a quiet ‘thanks’ in return.

Finally shaking off his awe at the enormity of the situation after another moment’s contemplation, he returned to his list of questions: “And how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.” Kage couldn’t help the glance, equal parts startled and impressed, that he shot to the other man at his admission. He had singlehandedly built an army, accrued international notoriety, and evaded numerous attempts on his life, all while barely pushing thirty? No one just _did_ that. Well, no ordinary person.

 _’Move along, Kage. He needs your help, not your praise.’_ “How’s your medical history? Have you had any significant illnesses or events?”

Stryker shook his head. “Nothing that I know of.” Pausing on that, his mouth quirked into a wry grin. “Well, besides the obvious,” he chuckled, shifting more upright in his seat and crossing the chrome-plated prosthesis that replaced his left leg over his right thigh.

Kage smiled at the man’s lighthearted attitude, an admirable stance toward missing a major limb. “Of course.” He indicated the metal structure. “How long have you had that?”

Stryker tilted his head back for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. “Going on twelve years now.”

Kage paused in writing down the details to raise his eyebrows at him. “You were young.”

“Yep, and stupid,” Stryker affirmed with a chuckle.

Kage released a quietly appreciative laugh. “We all are at that age.”

“Not usually stupid enough to lose a limb over it.”

Kage smiled at the quip. “Maybe not, depends on the person.” He glanced back over the prosthesis, noting the myriad scratches and dents in its burnished casing. “How did you lose your leg?”

“I got mauled by a skichren,” Stryker explained. “It was entirely my fault, and I could’ve died.”

 _’A skichren? Gracious sakes.’_ “Were you bitten?”

“Yeah. That’s why they had to chop off my leg.” Curling his fingers into claws, the man clasped his hand around his left thigh, just above the bionic knee. “It got me pretty good. Had to get tested for skicher for months afterward. Never had any symptoms, though.”

Kage nodded thoughtfully as he added notes to his growing file. “It’s certainly not unheard of for an individual to carry skicher and be asymptomatic, especially a metahuman,” he added, indicating him with the tip of his pencil. “But of course, if it’s been twelve years and you’ve shown no indication—” he bobbed his head with a smile— “you’re probably fine.” Stryker chuckled slightly in response.

Letting the tablet rest in his lap for the moment, the doctor looked back over the metahuman’s features. “How about that scar through your right eye?”

“Got that from the same skichren that took my leg.” Stryker’s mouth quirked back into the now-familiar dry smirk. “The juveniles’ claws are wicked sharp, to be sure.”

Dr. Bronner observed the scar from his seat. “It looks pretty deep. Does it bother you at all?”

“Nope, just cosmetic.” Stryker tapped the point of his cheekbone, near the rust-toned ridge. “I got pretty lucky there, too: if it had gone just a bit deeper, I’m told I probably would’ve lost my eye.”

The doctor spent an extra moment or two finishing his notes. “And you, of course, are an electrokinetic,” he continued. “That is fairly common knowledge at this point, even if your alias weren’t just a bit on the nose,” he teased, prompting a chuckle from the hero. “How did you come about that? Is it natural?”

Stryker nodded. “I was born with it, yeah. Pretty sure the genes come primarily from my dad’s side of the family.”

“Does using your abilities affect you in any way?”

“Definitely.” Stryker lifted his hands toward the doctor, showing him the undersides of his forearms. “I mean, you can see veins of electricity under my skin when I’m charged. It can certainly be physically taxing, though I usually only see that at the upper extremes. Regardless, it is part of why I exercise so much restraint over it.” He paused, face twisting into a grimace as he steepled his fingers in his lap. “Well, that and, uh, most people are a lot more vulnerable to electricity than I am.”

Kage nodded in agreement. “Electricity is certainly very dangerous. Your awareness of that is admirable.”

Stryker smiled. “Thanks.”

Kage returned to his notebook. “I will want to run a couple tests on your lightning, to evaluate the effect it has on you and make sure everything is running smoothly.” The metahuman nodded, seeming unsurprised.

Finally setting his notepad aside, Dr. Bronner leaned forward onto his arms, folding his hands in his lap as gentle blue eyes regarded the hero. “Probably the most important factor here is that you have to be able to trust me. A primary goal of this visit is to help you relax, which will be difficult at best if you’re not comfortable with what I’m doing. If there’s anything that I can do to help you feel more secure, please by all means let me know.”

Stryker met his gaze, warm brown eyes steady and open. “I appreciate that. Your transparency so far has certainly helped.”

“So how have you been feeling lately? Anything I should know about?” At Stryker’s hesitation, the doctor gave him a stern look over the frame of his glasses. “Be honest. I saw the look on your face when Anva mentioned your exhaustion.”

Stryker sighed and averted his gaze. “Yeah, I’ve... pretty much been running on empty for a while now.”

Dr. Bronner nodded slowly, reopening his notepad. “Anva mentioned your self-care has been subpar at best for a little while now. That is why you’re here today.” He looked back to Stryker. “Now, when you say you’re ‘running on empty’, what does that look like, specifically?”

The hero seemed unable to look him in the eye. “I’m often fending off tiredness, having a hard time focusing, I’m not moving as quickly as I usually do—stuff like that.”

“Yes, inadequate hours of sleep and an irregular diet can do that to a person,” the doctor murmured, mostly to himself. Stryker quietly accepted the gentle scolding. “How has your lightning been affected by this, if at all?”

“It hasn’t, really, so far as I’ve noticed. Granted, I don’t use it much,” the metahuman conceded, “but my average output has pretty much been the same.”

 _’That’s good: his condition might not be severe.’_ “Do you have any injuries I need to be aware of?”

“No, nothing recent.”

With a glance over his notes, Kage found that every question he’d jotted down had been answered. “Okay, I think I’ve got everything I need.” He stood, flipping the notepad under his arm. “Shall we head back?”

“Alright.” Uncrossing his legs, the metahuman rose from his seat to join the doctor, and the pair crossed the central hall separating the warm tones of the living area from the cooler hues of the clinic space. As he led the way down the slate-plastered hall, Kage kept the man walking at his side in the corner of his eye as brown eyes darted about, bright with curiosity but instinctively watchful.

A little way into the clinic, Dr. Bronner paused at a left-hand door left slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he flipped a switch at his elbow, illuminating the exam room in crisp white light from the strips set into the ceiling. Emmett had done well preparing the space for their celebrity guest: Kage was careful to keep his work area clean, but now every surface practically sparkled, from the granite-topped cabinets in the back left-hand corner and the black analog scale set before them, to the metal exam table with the thin canvas-lined mattress set against the right wall and the rack of instruments mounted behind it.

Setting his notepad on the counter, the doctor stepped over to wash his hands in the metal sink set into the corner-most block. “Alright: if you’ll take off your jacket, belt, and boot and step up onto the scale, I’ll be right with you.”

Bracing his hips against the bed for stability, Stryker popped open the buckles on his single hiking boot and pulled off the shoe, setting it by the foot of the bed, then shrugged off his gray-hooded jacket and laid it across the mattress. The holstered revolvers hit the thin cushion with a pair of muffled thumps as his belt followed suit.

Dr. Bronner, meanwhile, strode across the room to the coat rack mounted by the door and pulled on the labcoat left hanging on a hook, looping the pocketed stethoscope around his neck. After hanging Stryker’s jacket and belt from adjacent hooks, he rejoined the hero where he waited on the scale, retrieving his notepad from the counter to write down his weight. 

“One ninety-six pounds: well within healthy parameters for your build. Turn around and stand up straight.” As Stryker carefully turned on the scale, the doctor opened the attached measuring stick and gently lowered the top bar to the crown of the man’s head, displacing some metallic blond hair in the process. “And five-foot-eleven,” he announced with a smile, retracting the measure. “You’re pushing six feet there, mister. Tall genes?”

Stryker returned the smile, chuckling quietly to himself. “Pretty sure, especially on my dad’s side. I’m told I look just like he did.”

That most likely meant he wasn’t related to Jonathon Bradley as Kage had previously wondered: last he recalled of the highly respected physician, he was certainly old enough to be Stryker’s father, but his dark brown hair and gray eyes were as unlike as could be from the hero’s pale blond hair and brown eyes.

Again Kage corralled his curiosities. “Alright, well I see no issues with your posture. Step down.”

As Stryker stepped off of the scale, Dr. Bronner consulted his notes and gestured to the bed. “If you’re comfortable, strip down to your undergarments and hop up onto the table for me.”

Stryker nodded and took his tee by the collar, tugging it over his head with a guiding hand on the back of his shirt. Lean muscle rippled under tanned skin peppered with scars and a few scattered runes as he bundled up the simple cotton garment and dropped it onto the chair beside the scale, then turned to unbutton and remove his khakis. Noticing him struggle for a moment to detangle his trousers from the bolted foot-piece of his prosthetic, Kage started forward to offer a supporting arm, but the hero waved away his assistance. Leaving his khakis and stocking with his shirt, Stryker crossed the office floor to hoist himself onto the edge of the exam table.

Double-checking his equipment, Kage paused to observe the man for a moment. In the quiet of the office, his bionic knee whirred softly as it micro-corrected its orientation. Stryker watched him patiently, but his relaxed expression contrasted with the visible tension along the slope of his shoulders, muscles taut and stiff entirely on reflex.

Kage humphed quietly to himself as he stepped toward his patient. “Can you do something for me? Can you close your eyes?”

The scarred brow furrowed in a perplexed frown, but Stryker obeyed.

“Don’t squeeze, just close them. There you go. I’m going to guide you onto your back,” Dr. Bronner continued as he reached forward. “Don’t stiffen, alright? I’m not going to let you fall.”

As Stryker leaned into his arm, instinctively pushing against the table to steady himself, the doctor guided him to lie flat on his back along the thin mattress with a hand between his shoulderblades and an arm under his knees.

Once he was certain Stryker was settled, he left the bedside to turn off the overhead lights, leaving only the gentler floor lamp in the corner by the door to illuminate the office space. “Keep your eyes closed.”

He continued as he crossed the office back to the table: “Now I just need you to breathe, alright? Picture a square. It’s a moderately sized square: I’d recommend four to six seconds per side. For each breath cycle, follow that square: inhale, pause, exhale, pause. Can you do that?”

He watched with a slight nod to himself as Stryker’s breath began to slow and deepen, his muscular chest rising and falling in an even rhythm as Kage returned to his side. “Very good,” he hummed, stepping to the head of the table. “Just keep doing that. I’m going to start working your shoulders.”

Briefly clasping his hands together to warm them, he adjusted the sleeves of his coat and laid his hands on Stryker’s shoulders, using his thumbs and palms to seek out and break apart the knots embedded deep in the muscle tissue. Initially Stryker flinched and squirmed under the pressure, but he gradually found himself relaxing into Kage’s hands as the doctor made his way through each kink and sore spot. Dr. Bronner in turn noticed prickles of static electricity darting between his fingertips and palm as his hands made contact with the electrokinetic’s bare skin, initially startlingly sharp but gradually fading out as the tension constricting his form subsided.

Progressing downward to Stryker’s chest, he took the opportunity to feel along the lines of his ribcage as well, keeping an eye on his patient’s face as he pressed along each sweeping bone. Stryker indicated no sensitivity in that region, however, and Kage’s observation of the markings across his skin found no irritation. Shifting to his abdomen revealed much the same condition as the doctor probed along the lines of his build and deeper to outline his organs.

Lifting back toward Stryker’s shoulders, Kage made his way deliberately down each arm in turn, finally taking each hand in his own to gently knead stiffness out of each calloused finger and palm. A closer look revealed hair-thin fractal scarring along each digit—evidently the lightning he frequently grasped turned even the mutant’s own tissues white from stress eventually.

Finally laying Stryker’s hand back on the table, Kage continued down to his thighs, skirting the hem of his briefs to feel along the muscle and the tendons into his knee. Switching to his left leg, he carefully loosened the harness holding his prosthesis in place and lifted the whole, startlingly heavy piece away from the remaining stump. Again, his thigh—what was left of it, at least—returned no signs of trouble, but as the doctor approached where the socket fit, pressure on an inward point near the end of the stump drew a wince from his patient. Pausing immediately, Dr. Bronner looked toward Stryker’s face. “Is that tender?”

Stryker nodded tightly. “A bit.”

Dr. Bronner hummed, probing gently around the problem spot. “I can’t feel any anomalies in the bone or muscle. The socket might be applying uneven pressure. You should have it refitted.”

Stryker scoffed. “What I need to do is have it _replaced._ Thing’s old as hell and totally beat up. You saw the dents.” He shrugged. “’S what I get for being a disabled guy who refuses to slow down.”

The doctor cracked an amused smile at his casual air. “A good problem to have.” Carefully lifting the prosthesis from the table, he transferred it to lean against the chair holding the rest of Stryker’s belongings. “I’m going to set this aside for now, okay? You won’t need it for this portion.” Stryker nodded.

Returning to his right leg, Kage continued down his calf until he pressed into Stryker’s foot the same as he had his hands, simultaneously examining the tendons in his ankle.

Finally, the doctor took a step back to look over Stryker again, and the change in his form was both subtle and deeply satisfying: the tautness that he had previously observed had practically melted away and his breathing was light and easy. Smiling to himself, Dr. Bronner guided Stryker back to a seated position on the edge of the table.

“Can I open my eyes?” Stryker asked as he stepped back.

“If you want to.”

So the man did, chest swelling with a steady breath.

Kage smiled. “How are you feeling?”

Stryker thoughtfully dropped his gaze for a moment, then lifted his eyebrows. “Much better, actually.” He looked back to Kage and quirked a smile—the first genuine one he had made since Kage had met him.

Kage nodded, returning to the door. “You look it. I’m glad. You’ve been responding very well so far.” Stryker squinted as he flicked the overheads back on, eyes adjusting to the brightness. “Now that that’s taken care of, I’ll get back to the exam proper.”

Stryker watched quietly as Dr. Bronner stepped past him to lift the blood pressure cuff from the wall-mounted instrument array before returning to his side. Gently taking hold of Stryker’s wrist in his free hand, Dr. Bronner lifted his arm forward to rest on his thigh. “Let your arm relax,” he instructed as he secured the cuff around Stryker’s bicep. Lifting the stethoscope from his shoulders, he adjusted the tips in his ears and slipped the diaphragm under the edge of the cuff, pinning it in place while his other hand inflated the cuff. Keen blue eyes watched the attached gauge closely as air slowly drained from the cuff. After a moment of focused silence, he returned the stethoscope to his shoulders and undid the cuff, hanging it back in its place. 

“One twenty-four over eighty,” he mused as he jotted down the reading in Stryker’s file. “Not quite hypertensive, but headed that direction, Mister Stryker.” Stryker averted his gaze, quietly accepting the warning.

Setting aside his notebook, he retrieved the thermometer from his coat pocket. “I need you to hold this under your tongue, okay?” Stryker let him slide the glass rod under his tongue and closed his mouth around it, holding it steady with a hand.

As he waited for the thermometer to register, Dr. Bronner took Stryker’s other hand in his and pressed two fingers to the underside of his wrist, tracking his pulse with his watch. 76 bpm—very good and expected for his fitness level, though he suspected it would be lower if not for the man’s chronically stressed condition.

After writing that down as well, he removed the thermometer from Stryker’s mouth, lifting his glasses as he turned the marks toward the light. “Ninety-eight seven—not perfect, but well within a normal range.” He set the thermometer in the cleaning jar in the sink as he stepped back to the equipment rack, pausing to jot down the measurement in his notebook as he passed.

This time, he lifted the otoscope from its slot in the rack, affixing one of the cones to its head as he returned to Stryker’s side. His free hand touched the corner of Stryker’s jaw as he readied the instrument in the other. “Turn over your right shoulder.” At Stryker’s compliance, he clicked on the tiny light contained within the instrument and settled the cone into his left ear. The device revealed a clean and healthy canal and eardrum and Dr. Bronner withdrew, nodding to himself. “Good. Now, left shoulder.”

He took a moment to examine the piercings that secured the blue metal clips in Stryker’s helix—both had long since healed beautifully and showed no hint of irritation—before examining his right inner ear the same way.

With Stryker’s other ear showing a similar condition, he retracted the device, snapping the cone off of the head and dropping it into his coat pocket. “Very good. Now look at me.” Keeping the instrument level, he swept it back and forth across his vision, watching the pupils contract and noticing as they did that the russet brown irises were actually flecked throughout with gold, concentrated around the perimeter of the pupils.

Lowering the tool to attach a new cone to its head, he lifted his free hand to the underside of Stryker’s chin, guiding him to tilt his head back so the doctor could insert the cone into each nostril, studying the nasal cavity.

Satisfied with that area as well, he detached and stored that tip with the first, retrieving his tongue depressor from his pocket as he did. Clasping the metal bar to his palm, he pressed his thumb to the front of Stryker’s chin, noting the prickle of a bit of stubble under the digit. “Now, open wide and stick out your tongue for me—’ahh’.” Again Stryker obeyed, patiently maintaining position while the doctor gently pushed down his tongue with the tip of the depressor, allowing the beam of the otoscope to shine unhindered down the back of his throat. “Very good,” Kage murmured thoughtfully to himself as he observed the visible tissues. “Very good. Okay.” He clicked off the light and withdrew, allowing Stryker to close his mouth again. Stepping back, he returned the otoscope to its slot on the wall rack, dropping the depressor and tool tips in the jar beside the thermometer.

He returned to Stryker, gentle hands to the corners of his jaw guiding him to tilt his head back again. “Look up to the ceiling. I’m going to examine your neck.” Probing fingers located the lymph glands under his chin—all free of swelling—and continued down the column of his throat, taking note of his carotid pulse and lightly exploring the knot of his larynx.

“Excellent,” he hummed, lowering his hands and shifting back to step toward Stryker’s side, the man’s gaze following his movements on instinct. “Alright, deep breaths for me,” he instructed, lifting the stethoscope from his shoulders and clasping the chestpiece in his palm to secure the arms into his ears. “Two deep breaths in, held, and released, every time you feel the stethoscope,” he murmured as he pressed the diaphragm to Stryker’s back, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder. Stryker nodded, leaning into his forearms propped on his thighs and letting his eyes close as he breathed. As the doctor followed the line of his shoulderblades through each lobe, his breathing registered clean and clear throughout, absent of anomalies.

Kage withdrew momentarily to guide the man to lean back on his hands and continued to examine his breathing from the front, this time listening to the rush of air through his trachea just below the line of his collarbones and to the lobes under his arms.

Satisfied with the sounds of his respiration, the doctor shifted back for a moment, free hand adjusting the seal of one eartip. “Okay, now I’m going to listen to your heart—just breathe normally.” With that, he pressed the diaphragm back to Stryker’s chest, next to the joining of his right collarbone and sternum where he had already noticed the thrum of his pulse while examining his windpipe. As Kage shifted through each valve, from one side of his sternum to the other and down the line of the center bone to follow the edge of his left pectoral, Stryker’s heart beat strong and sure in the doctor's ears, displaying the steady power of a superhuman’s vitality and a life on the move. The doctor had privately wondered about a potential hint of arrhythmia considering Anva’s reports on the man’s condition and stress, but the pulse he observed in this moment indicated no such signs.

Kage allowed the stethoscope to hang from his neck for a moment to assist Stryker in lying along the table, then repeated the pattern of auscultation with his patient reclined, one hand guiding the chestpiece while the other located the man’s pulses.

With the condition of Stryker’s heart determined, Kage turned his attention to his patient’s abdomen. As he pressed the diaphragm along the lines of his intestines, the man’s bowels sounded suspiciously empty. He clipped the arms of the stethoscope around his neck again to angle a skeptical look at his patient. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

Stryker averted his gaze toward the wall, the expression of sheepish embarrassment that flickered across his face telling Kage everything he needed to know. The doctor shook his head with a slight bemused smile, reminded again of Anva’s reports and concerns. “That’s about what I expected. You need to make sure you’re eating regularly.”

“I don’t have time,” the leader protested, but Kage noticed very little conviction behind his words. “Yes, you do,” he countered firmly. “Trust your support system. You have to take care of yourself before you can expect to have anything to offer the rest of us.”

Adjusting his stethoscope to rest around his shoulders, he helped Stryker back to seated on the edge of the table. “If you’ll put this back on,” he continued, retrieving his prosthesis from the chair and offering it to Stryker, “I just need to take a few measurements, then I have a couple brief exercises for you to perform so I can observe how your heart responds.”

Stryker nodded, taking back the false leg as he slipped down off of the table. Setting the rubber and metal foot-piece on the tile, he settled his stump firmly into the socket, the formerly stiff article seeming to loosen on contact, and tightened the belt harness to secure it.

As Stryker stepped into a clear space on the tile floor, Kage retrieved a rolled tape measure from his coat pocket. “Arms up.” Stryker obediently lifted his arms out to his sides, resting his hands on the back of his neck, and Kage looped the tape measure in turn around the widest part of his chest, the narrowest part of his waist, and the points of his hips.

“Alright, great,” he remarked, jotting down each measurement. “Arms down, shoulders relaxed.” With Stryker standing in place, he measured the circumference of his neck and shoulders, writing them with the others. “Okay, arms straight out at shoulder height,” he instructed, stretching the tape measure across the man’s wingspan.

“Alright,” Kage continued, rerolling the tape measure and returning it to his pocket, “now I need you to do a few squats and jumping jacks, until you start to feel tired.” He watched as Stryker did so, observing his dexterity with his false limb and the smooth, evenly balanced flexing of his powerful musculature.

Several reps later, Stryker finally stood up straight, setting his hands on his hips and bowing his head slightly. As his patient caught his breath, Kage returned the stethoscope to his ears and pressed the diaphragm to his chest, following the same pattern as before. Stryker’s heart pounded with a force that Kage couldn’t help but compare to thunder, its strength and rhythm showing no issues with the exertion. A sweep over his back found his breathing deep and heavy but untroubled.

“Excellent.” The doctor clipped the arms of the stethoscope around his neck. “Sit back up on the table, please.”

“You mentioned earlier,” Kage continued as Stryker hoisted himself back onto the edge of the exam table, “that charging and unleashing electricity does have a physical effect on your body similar to any form of strenuous activity. I’d like to see what that looks like, to ensure the effects are a healthy form of stress.”

Stryker nodded and unbuckled the harness of his prosthesis. “You’d better take this back for a minute, then. I don’t want to make it short-circuit again.”

Kage blinked. “Your prosthetic limb isn’t insulated against your own abilities?”

Stryker chuckled at the doctor’s incredulous surprise. “Yep. Bit of an oversight there.”

Kage accepted the prosthesis from him and set it back against the chair. “I hope that hasn’t been too much of a problem.”

“When I’m standing, not really. It is a bit more problematic when I’m sitting, though. Harder to dodge.”

He paused as Kage briefly pressed the stethoscope to his apical pulse. “Just let me know when to run the charge.”

Noting that his heart had returned to a resting rhythm, Kage nodded, returning the instrument to his shoulders. “Go ahead.”

Sitting up straight and resting his hands in his lap, Stryker rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, and with a slight twitch and a shiver, electricity crackled across his body, brilliant blue veins pulsing just under the surface of his skin. Watching closely, Kage took note of the micro-spasms running through his musculature and the sparks and flashes of brilliant blue across dark irises.

“Are you seeing any flashes across your vision?” he asked.

Stryker shook his head. “No.”

The doctor indicated his visibly shivering muscles. “Do those contractions hurt at all?”

“No.”

Falling silent again, Kage noticed his breathing gradually growing elevated. “Are you experiencing any tightness in your chest?”

Stryker again shook his head. “No.”

After another moment, Kage lifted the stethoscope from its place. “Alright, I think that’s enough.”

Stryker let his eyes shutter for a moment, releasing a slow breath as the glowing veins across his body faded away, some seeming to reroute down his arms and into the table.

Realigning the instrument in his ears, Kage reached forward with the chestpiece—and involuntarily jerked backward with a startled yelp as contact with the man’s skin sent a white-hot shock of energy up his arm.

Stryker’s gaze jumped to him, brow furrowing. “You good?”

Kage grimaced, massaging the lingering tingling sensation out of his arm. “I’m fine, just a bit of static.”

Stryker pursed his lips. “Sorry. That happens sometimes.”

 _’There’s no need for concern over his ability to generate electricity, that’s for sure,’_ Kage mused, lifting the diaphragm, a bit more cautiously this time, to Stryker’s chest. Static crackled in his ears from lingering stray charges, but the man’s heartbeat was clear enough, showing a similar elevation to the previous exercise and likewise no abnormalities.

“Very good.” The doctor returned the instrument to his shoulders. “It seems to cause exactly the reaction you described.”

Kage folded his hands. “Well, that completes what I had planned. Aside from needing better self-care practices, you are in fantastic health. I don’t see anything that concerns me.” Lifting Stryker’s prosthesis from its position against the chair, he carried it back to the man. “Go ahead and get dressed, and we’ll head back out to talk with your people.”

While Stryker reattached the false limb and donned his previously discarded clothing, Kage returned his stethoscope to his coat pocket and the coat to its hook on the wall rack and retrieved his notebook from the counter. Emmett would drop in later to finish cleaning his equipment.

Once Stryker had shrugged on his jacket, Kage led the way out of the room and down the hall back into the living area. Stryker reclaimed his earlier seat on the couch, crossing his prosthesis over his natural knee and resting his elbow on the arm of the couch, as Kage poked his head out the front door. Anva stood on the front porch nearby, her delicate figure tense as lavender-hued optics kept an eye on the surrounding woodland, but she perked up immediately upon sight of the doctor.

“Anva, will you come inside for a moment?” Kage requested.

Stryker lifted a casual salute to the cylirt as she entered the living room after the doctor, and the rest of the tension drained from her shoulders on sight of her friend, her pensive expression relaxing into a soft smile. She seated herself beside him, her hands folded in her lap, while Kage took his seat across from them.

“How is he?” she asked him, addressing the doctor directly.

“He’s in excellent condition,” Kage assured her. “Nothing to be concerned about.” He flipped through the notes he had taken during the exam. “His systolic blood pressure is a tad high, though. I suspect this is caused by the high stress he’s under. It should clear itself up with the self-care improvements we’ve all mentioned at this point.” He tilted his head toward Stryker with a smile. “I’m completely serious: get some rest, and for gosh sake, please eat something.”

Stryker glanced down with a sheepish smile and nodded. “I will.”

Anva laid a smooth metallic hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile when he turned to her. “Remember that we’re all here for you.”

Stryker nodded, returning the smile. “I know.”

“He also indicated some pressure sores in the area of his amputation,” Kage continued to Anva. “The socket of his prosthesis might need to be repaired and refitted, if not replaced entirely.”

Anva nodded. “Well, that’s easily enough arranged. Anything else, Doctor?”

“Nope!” Kage responded brightly. “That’s all I have for you today.”

As the three of them stood, Stryker offered his hand to the doctor. “Thank you for having me. That helped much more than I expected it to.”

Kage returned his smile as he accepted the handshake. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad I could help. If you need anything, just call.”

Accompanying his guests to the front door, Kage paused in the doorway to watch the pair regroup with their allies, who had emerged from their posts during their discussion. Stryker stood tall and relaxed, his hands in his pockets and a ready smile on his lips as he greeted his relieved companions. Smiling to himself, Kage closed the door.


End file.
